Jezebel

I stared at the top of my canopy, patiently waiting for my alarm to sound, heralding the start of the first day of my senior year.

This is my final year. If I survived all the other years, then I can survive this one. It'll be a piece of cake. I have God on my side. He will never leave or forsake me.

Although my faith was unwavering, I couldn't help the anxious feeling of dread that coiled in my stomach like a python crushing its prey. It was sinful to doubt, and I was no better than Doubting Thomas. The last two hours of prayer would be all for nothing if I didn't put 100% of my faith in the Lord.

My father told me to ignore the bullies because their day of judgment would come. Their souls would burn in Hell, and they'd cry out for mercy and relief, only to be reminded that they had their chance, and the window for mercy had closed. Eternal damnation would be their just reward. My father would tell me to keep my head up and remember that Jesus was mocked and tormented and was the Son of God. He reminded me that the Lord was testing me, but like a good and faithful servant, I'd persevere despite my abomination of a name.

My name.

My father detested my name, and to this day, he cursed himself for allowing my mother to name me Jezebel. He claimed he was weak in his spirit, entirely under my mother's spell. He blamed my mother's secularism for why she picked such a wicked name for me. She was a non-believer, and he claimed she died a non-believer's death when she lost her fight to cancer two years later. "If only she'd believe, then she would've been spared," he would say with a heavy sigh. My father swore out of love and loyalty to God that he would raise me to overcome my name; I wouldn't fall to the same fate as Jezebel: a killer, prostitute, and idolater. When I was younger, he used to tell me bedtime stories about Jezebel. Quite frankly, it was traumatizing to be told at five years old that if I were a sinner like Jezebel, I would be tossed from a window, trampled by horses, and eaten by dogs just like her if I wasn't on my best behavior.

My alarm on my phone rang. It started as a low vibration, followed by faint tinkling that grew louder as time progressed. I grabbed my cellphone and quickly shut off the alarm. My room was next door to my father's, and I didn't want to wake him. I didn't need a lecture before my first day of school, although I was sure he'd manage to fit one in before I slipped out the door.

I tapped in my passcode, revealing the background screen of my favorite inspirational scripture.

"Isaiah 41:10; So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand," I whispered.

I flung off my fluffy pink duvet that was more fitting for a child and not an 18-year-old and climbed out of bed. My knees automatically hit my matching pink rug, and I began to pray. I prayed for forgiveness. I didn't know of any sins I committed, but I still prayed for all my sins, even the unknown ones. I went through the motions, reciting the prayer my father taught me, and finished by adding a new line.

"Please, God. Make me invisible. I don't ask for much, but if you'd find it in your will, please spare me from their cruel ridicule. I know it's a test, but how long must I be tested? Forgive me. I think I just sinned. I have no right to question you and your divine plans. I know you wouldn't give me any burden I couldn't handle. Amen."

I climbed to my feet, removed my bonnet, made my bed, and approached my outfit handpicked by my father the night before. My spirit crushed a little on the inside as I picked the dress up from my chair by the window. It was a red and black short-sleeved dress with a white Peter Pan collar. Besides the dress laid a pair of opaque white stockings and plain white Keds.

A few weeks ago, I used up every last ounce of my courage to ask my father if we could make an update to my wardrobe. It was drab, outdated, and directly correlated to the harassment I suffered at school. He accused me of wanting to live up to my name by showing my skin and tempting all the boys. His accusations were false, but I instantly dropped the subject.

I released a loud sigh once I was fully dressed. I stared at myself in my full-length mirror and immediately wanted to slip back into bed. I attempted to smile at my reflection, but no matter how much I willed it to happen, the corners of my mouth would not obey. How could I smile when I knew what lay ahead? Hurtful words, unwanted touches and shoves, and nasty notes in my locker. I was an outcast, like the leper, forced away from the rest of society. Even the faculty shot me pitying glances as I walked down the hallways. I shook my head and left the mirror to continue getting ready for school.

I breezed through my morning hygiene routine and slicked my hair back into two large curly afro puffs. I wasn't allowed to wear makeup, but shockingly, my father allowed me to wear perfume and body spray. I spritzed my gardenia-scented perfume to my neck and wrists and swiped my full lips with strawberry lip balm.

"Jezebel! You're going to be late!" my father called out from the other side of my bedroom door.

I inventoried my backpack again, ensuring I had all my supplies before meeting my father in the kitchen.

"Good morning, Daddy."

"Good morning, Jezebel. Are you excited for your last first day of high school?" he asked as I sat across from him at the kitchen table. He prepared a simple meal of pancakes and fruit. Truthfully, it was more than I expected since I did the cooking. But perhaps, he wanted to do something special for my first day of school.

"I don't know if excited is the word, but..." I trailed off once I noticed the severe look on my father's face. "But the Lord comforts me, and I know I'll have a blessed day."

"Good. Good. I had a look at your schedule. You have five classes and two free periods. I want you to apply for scholarships and some Christian universities like we discussed. Southwestern Assemblies of God University might be a good place to start."

"I understand, Daddy," I lowly mumbled as my head lowered.

"You have something on your mind?"

"No, Daddy."

"You actin' like your name, Jezebel. Stop lying to me, girl."

"I...I..."

"Spit it out."

"Is it possible for me to apply to other colleges besides Christian colleges?"

"You got something against Christian colleges?"

"No, sir, but I just wanted to make sure I kept my options open."

"You do have other options, Jezebel."

My head snapped up, and that long-forgotten smile started to crawl across my face.

"You can apply to Christian colleges or stay home and take online courses. Which would you prefer?"

My smile halted, and did a U-turn.

"I would prefer a Christian college, Daddy."

"That's what I thought. Hurry up and finish eating. Your lunch is on the counter."

"Yes, Daddy," I whispered.

"Oh, yeah. One more thing," he said as he rose to his feet with his empty plate in his hand. "Don't be out in these streets being a Jezebel. You hear?"

"I understand."

***

I walked the familiar route to the school that I had traveled for the past four years. I was so familiar with it that I could walk with my eyes closed. Typically, I enjoyed my morning walks when the sun wasn't yet scorching, and my shoes would get caught by the neighbors' spewing water sprinklers. Today, for some reason, was different. My father's words rang in my head, "Don't be a Jezebel."

My father always seemed to spit my name out like a curse, and I feared that some of my self-hatred was directly linked to an identity crisis I might be suffering. What can I be proud of if I can't even be proud of my name? My entire identity is rooted in being the complete opposite of my name. A large part of me believed my father called me by my name out of spite. I had a middle name, but for some odd reason, he refused to call me Shae.

My stomach coiled again once my high school came into view. Dread overcame me as I approached the crosswalk leading me to the Devil's playground.

"Please, God. Send me an angel to watch over me," I silently prayed.

I was halfway down the sidewalk when an SUV sped down the street. I screamed as it slammed onto the brakes, coming to a screeching halt a few inches from me. I clutched my chest with one hand and placed the other on top of the hood so that I could gather myself. I nearly passed out from the excitement. My eyes snapped up and locked on the driver. He was young, but the tattoos on his fingers, arms, and neck aged him. I didn't know why, but I couldn't look away. I was transfixed; bewitched might have been better fitting. Despite not being able to discern the color of his eyes, I knew his soul was as mysterious as midnight, black as onyx, and dark as obsidian glass. I wasn't getting any red flags from him. Instead, it was an enormous black mast, like the one you'd find on a pirate ship.

He will ruin you, Jezebel.

I had to listen to my intuition because my intuition was never wrong. 

08/04/2022

Author's Corner

What do we think about Jezebel?

How do you think Erik perceives this run-in with Jezebel?

What do we think of her father?